


Homeward Bound

by dapperyklutz



Series: Give Geralt Love [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Geralt Gets the Love He Deserves, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Rimming, Smut, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Winter At Kaer Morhen, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25400209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperyklutz/pseuds/dapperyklutz
Summary: “So whatdoyou do during winter?” Jaskier asks with a curious tilt of his head after they set up camp for the night. “I mean, there’s only so much you can do to pass the time there, no? Do you build snowmen? Or, in your case, snow witchers? Do youevenhave a witcher’s version of a snowball fight?”“We maintain the keep, fix what needs fixing,” Geralt answers as he pulls the hide of the first rabbit off its rear. “We eat, get drunk, and play Gwent. We sleep a lot, too. Don’t get much of that on The Path.”Jaskier’s heart aches at that casual admission. He’s more than aware that Geralt is used to the little comforts walking The Path entails, which is why Jaskier goes and above and beyond to help and provide as much as he can for his witcher.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert & Vesemir, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Give Geralt Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859470
Comments: 36
Kudos: 709
Collections: Geralt Fluff Week 2020





	Homeward Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Day 2 Prompt: Kaer Morhen/Wolf Witchers
> 
> A companion piece to [_You Must Like Me For Me_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25386490), but can be read as a stand-alone.

When Geralt invites Jaskier to winter with him at Kaer Morhen, Jaskier’s initial thought is:

_Oh! The songs I would be able to write about the crumbling keep and its inhabitants! The Wolf Witchers’ den!_

Then it’s quickly followed by:

_Oh… I’m going to meet Geralt’s family._

Excitement and nervousness settle at the pit of his stomach at the thought of _finally_ meeting Geralt’s pack. Granted, they’ve only been romantically together for a few months, but they’ve known each other for the better part of twelve years now. Geralt is Jaskier’s very best friend in the whole wide world, and the prospect of meeting Vesemir and Eskel and Lambert is, to be quite frank, a bit daunting.

He’s thrilled, _of course_ he is, which is why he enthusiastically accepts the invitation, playing his lute and prancing around Geralt and Roach as they make their way to the next village. Still, that doesn’t mean he’s not anxious about meeting Geralt’s family.

First impressions and all that.

Geralt, having clearly sensed Jaskier’s nerves, offers him a comforting smile before he presses a dry kiss on Jaskier’s forehead when the bard settles to walk beside him.

Jaskier turns to putty at the affectionate gesture. His darling witcher rarely bestows such displays of affection as he’s more relaxed in giving them when they’re alone from judgmental eyes. Emboldened, Jaskier slings his lute over his back and takes Geralt’s hand in his. Twining their fingers together, Jaskier gently strokes his thumb over scarred knuckles.

Geralt’s mouth twitches and he lightly squeezes Jaskier’s fingers.

“Your worries are unfounded,” he says before he arches a brow at Jaskier. “They won’t bite. Much.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes good-naturedly at the impish look on his lover’s face.

~

“So what _do_ you do during winter?” Jaskier asks with a curious tilt of his head after they set up camp for the night. “I mean, there’s only so much you can do to pass the time there, no? Do you build snowmen? Or, in your case, snow witchers? Do you _even_ have a witcher’s version of a snowball fight?”

Behind them, and tied securely to a low-hanging branch, Roach snorts before she continues to munch on the patch of grass around her. Jaskier observes Geralt expertly skin the rabbits he caught for their dinner.

He hums before he quickly glances at Jaskier with a thoughtful look.

“We maintain the keep, fix what needs fixing,” Geralt answers as he pulls the hide of the first rabbit off its rear. He sets that aside before he starts on the second rabbit, sharp knife easily slicing the base of its neck. “We eat, get drunk, and play Gwent. We sleep a lot, too. Don’t get much of that on The Path.”

Jaskier’s heart aches at that casual admission. He’s more than aware that Geralt is used to the little comforts walking The Path entails, which is why Jaskier goes and above and beyond to help and provide as much as he can for his witcher. It doesn’t mean it makes it any easier to hear snippets of the adversities Geralt has faced for decades. Melitele knows how worse off he was before they met.

“Still, that doesn’t mean we completely slack off,” Geralt continues, taking no notice of Jaskier’s mind wandering for a few moments. “Vesemir has us run the walls often. We train for hours everyday to keep us in shape, which makes going to the hot spring more…”

Jaskier’s brain freezes at that.

“I’m sorry, but did you just mention _hot spring_?” he interrupts, voice going an octave higher as he stares incredulously at Geralt. “Your home has a _hot spring_?”

Geralt looks up to smirk knowingly at Jaskier.

“Hmm,” he hums in affirmation. “The keep was built around it.”

“And you didn’t bother to tell me this before?!”

“I’m telling you now.”

“ _Geralt!_ ” Jaskier whines, but there’s a disbelieving grin on his face.

Geralt chuckles deeply and this time, Jaskier can’t fight the shiver of pleasure down his spine when he hears it. The first spike of arousal simmers low in his gut, and Jaskier is certain that Geralt can smell him if the witcher’s deep inhale is anything to go by.

Jaskier shamelessly spreads his legs a little wider, his smirk widening a fraction when Geralt’s expression turns dark with want.

“Oh, darling, we’re going to have _so much_ fun this winter,” he purrs invitingly.

Geralt hums and then focuses on skinning the second rabbit, but not before Jaskier glimpses the corner of his lips twitch into a smirk.

~

Weeks pass until summer reaches its peak. However, the hot, humid air doesn’t deter them from making love that night.

Jaskier is taking his sweet time taking apart his darling witcher on the bedrolls they pushed together earlier that evening. After Geralt comes down his throat, his second orgasm of the night, Jaskier spends an extensive amount of time opening him up with his dexterous fingers and tongue. For all his talent as a renowned poet and bard, Jaskier’s words elude him upon the sight before him: Geralt, naked as the day he was born, on his hands and knees, and moaning wantonly like a whore for Jaskier to get with the program and fill him with his cock.

On any other night, Jaskier would gladly give in because who is he to deny his witcher?

But not tonight.

Tonight, Jaskier is going to take apart this magnificent, _stunning_ man before him because Geralt deserves _all_ the good things in life. He’s gone so little without for a horribly long time, and if that means it’s Jaskier’s job to do so, then the bard will gladly take the responsibility and enjoy every fucking minute of it.

He nudges Geralt’s knees further apart before he takes the witcher’s arse in his hands, delightfully squeezing the firm globes before spreading them wide. The furled hole winks enticingly at Jaskier as he licks his lips. He leans closer and blows a warm breath against the hole, one thumb lightly tracing the quivering rim, and he smirks when he hears Geralt groan.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls, impatient.

And because Jaskier’s a little shit, he teases, “Yes, my love?”

“Please,” Geralt whimpers brokenly, voice gruff and fucked out already. “ _Please_ , Jaskier. Want you. Want your mouth, your cock, _anything_. Just— _please_.”

Jaskier groans.

_“Fuck.”_

He doesn’t need further encouragement.

Without delay, Jaskier licks a stripe over Geralt, from his balls to his crack. The witcher groans and curses up a streak when Jaskier starts to hungrily suck on his rim, tongue working to loosen his entrance.

For the next several minutes, the only sounds that can be heard in their campsite are the crackling of the fire, Roach’s faint snuffs, Geralt’s heavy breathing, and the obscene sounds of Jaskier’s tongue fucking and tasting the most delicate part of his lover. After some time, Jaskier uncorks the bottle of oil next to him and starts to open Geralt further with a slick finger.

Before long, he’s three digits deep, the tips of his fingers lightly grazing the little bundle of nerves that’s making Geralt’s thighs tremble. Jaskier can’t resist but bite one arse cheek, and he hears Geralt grunt in surprise at the brief flash of pain before Jaskier lavishes the mark with kisses and little nips around the abused skin.

“Fuck, Jas, I’m ready,” Geralt grunts, voice hoarse. He arches his back and eagerly thrusts his hips against Jaskier’s fingers buried inside him. _“Come on. Fuck me already.”_

“Okay, okay, shh,” Jaskier says as he slowly pulls his fingers out. “Breathe, darling. Let me just—”

 _“Now,”_ Geralt growls impatiently.

“Alright! Okay, love, hang on—”

Jaskier unlaces his breeches and shoves them past his thighs before he drizzles more oil on his rigid cock. He bites his lower lip when he strokes himself a few times, the brief contact on his neglected member feeling absolutely wonderful. He shuffles closer and then lines himself up against Geralt’s loose hole before he slowly enters him.

Geralt’s moans echo in the clearing when the blunt head of Jaskier’s cock pop in past the ring of muscle. Jaskier lets out a loud exhale, his hands grabbing hold of Geralt’s hips as he gradually bottoms out. After a few moments, he feels Geralt push against him, and that’s when Jaskier gets to work.

Tightly grasping Geralt’s hips, Jaskier slowly pulls out before thrusting back in with a sharp snap, causing Geralt to let out another grunt. Jaskier feels a thrill of pleasure and awe tingle down his spine when he hears Geralt’s grunts again. Geralt is not exactly a loud person in bed, but the few times they’ve made love in the middle of the woods, Jaskier managed to wring out such lovely noises from the usually stoic man, and he considers that a victory in his book.

Wanting to hear more of his witcher, Jaskier spreads his knees and adjusts his grip on Geralt’s, hands moving to spread his cheeks apart. Then he proceeds to spend the next several minutes pounding that delectable arse. He feels smug satisfaction when he notices Geralt’s grunts evolve to breathy moans, a litany of _“fuck, fuck, right there”_ and _“Jaskier, Jaskier, fuck”_ the sweetest symphonies Jaskier has ever heard.

“You feel so good on my cock,” Jaskier breathes out, beads of sweat trailing down his brows, nose, and neck. “ _Geralt_. My darling, my love. Wish you could see yourself right now— _fuck_. You taste fucking _divine_ , and you take me so well. Oh, darling, thank you. _Thank you_ for inviting me to your home this winter. I can’t wait to make love to you — in your bed, the hot springs. Dare I say, we can fuck anywhere there, too?”

Geralt makes a high keening noise, and Jaskier’s arousal spikes further when he notices that one of Geralt’s hands is stroking his cock.

_“Jaskier.”_

“You like that, don’t you?” Jaskier replies roughly. He leans forward and starts to pepper wet kisses up Geralt’s spine, the rhythm of his hips beginning to stutter as he can feel his orgasm draw closer. He lifts one hand to tug at Geralt’s long silver locks, the witcher grunting in surprise when his head is pulled back for Jaskier to lick a stripe from his neck to his ear. “Oh, my love. The things I plan to do to you this winter, darling. I’m going to make sure this lovely hole of yours is stretched open all winter for me. Going to stuff you full of my cock and cum.”

Geralt whines and lets out a broken, _“Fuck.”_

Jaskier grins. “You love that, don’t you? You love being used and fucked like a whore. You love being good to me, too. Don’t you, Geralt?”

All Geralt manages is a whimper, and _gods_ Jaskier is fucking humbled by it. Though he can’t help but keep up the act as he tugs sharply at Geralt’s hair, his hips rolling against Geralt’s arse before he pulls out briefly, only to roughly thrust back in.

_“Answer me, witcher.”_

_“Yes,”_ Geralt moans brokenly after half a dozen attempts. “Want all of them, Jas. Just… just want you _so much_. All the time. I — _ah!_ — fuck, I only wanna be good to you— _fuck_.”

Oh, sweet Melitele, this man is going to be the death of him.

With a growl, Jaskier bats Geralt’s hand away before he takes his cock in hand. A swipe of his thumb over the leaking head and a dozen strokes later, Geralt comes with a loud, rumbling groan on their soiled bedroll. Jaskier moans brokenly when he feels Geralt clench around his cock, the tight heat of his lover the tipping point. Knees aching, thighs shaking, and chest heaving for breath, it only takes a few more thrusts before Jaskier is coming inside his lover.

“Did you mean it? Earlier?” Jaskier asks, long after they wiped themselves and the bedrolls clean of their spend. His shy tone is a complete contrast to a while ago.

Geralt, whose head is nestled comfortably on Jaskier’s chest, face buried in the crook where the bard’s shoulder and neck meet, hums contentedly.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

A pleased grin stretches over Jaskier’s face before he noses the top of Geralt’s slightly damp hair, eyes closed as he inhales the musky scent of his witcher. Lute-calloused fingers continue to trace patterns and shapes on Geralt’s scarred, muscly back, while his other hand caresses the arm slung over his hips.

“You won’t,” Jaskier whispers. It’s a promise.

~

Summer slowly eases into autumn, and before Jaskier knows it they start to make their way north. As usual, they steer clear of Cintra, not wanting to provoke the ire of Queen Calanthe after the clusterfuck that was the royal banquet three years prior when Geralt claimed the Law of Surprise.

Instead, they take the path to Toussaint, then pass through Angren and Lyria, until they settle for a few days in Aedirn to bathe and rest in a comfortable bed. Between Geralt’s contracts and Jaskier’s performances at the taverns, they managed to set aside coin for a cart Geralt plans to buy once they reach Kaedwen. He plans to stock up on supplies when they reach Ard Carraigh since they won’t be able to leave the keep once the snow sets in. According to Geralt, the trail up the Blue Mountains for Kaer Morhen is long and arduous, and Jaskier was told to buy thicker clothes and sturdier boots before they begin their trek up the mountain.

“We won’t be leaving the keep until spring,” Geralt reminds Jaskier for the umpteenth time with a pointed look, having just settled in their rented room at an inn in Daevon. “You can keep your silks but just this once, be fucking sensible. Your doublets aren’t going to keep you warm, and I don’t want to be worrying about you freezing to death while I keep us alive.”

Jaskier just rolls his eyes but takes his words to heart. He wraps his arms around Geralt’s shoulders before he leans forward to kiss the frown off the witcher’s face. Jaskier hums when he feels Geralt’s sturdy arms wrap around him, lightly squeezing his waist. He kisses that adorable cleft chin before meeting Geralt’s surprisingly soft lips in a searing kiss.

“You worry too much,” he murmurs against Geralt’s lips.

Geralt grunts and Jaskier yelps when he playfully nips his lower lip.

“Someone has to,” Geralt answers, and Jaskier moans low in his throat when he feels large, gloved hands grab his arse and squeeze his cheeks apart. “You literally have no self-preservation.”

“Yes, I do,” Jaskier protests weakly.

“No, you really don’t.”

“Fuck you.”

Jaskier feels a thrill of pleasure when Geralt smirks against his lips, hands already moving to the front to unlace his breeches.

“Hmm. Sure.”

~

“Lambert’s an asshole, so don’t take anything he says to heart,” Geralt tells him when they’re two days into their journey to Kaer Morhen. “He’s also the youngest, so he’s the most reckless of the three of us. Gets away with too much, too, the fucker. But you’re probably going to get along with him.”

Jaskier raises a brow at him but doesn’t say anything. He just files that information to the back of his mind and focuses instead on the path before them.

~

“Eskel and I grew up together. He’s the opposite of Lambert and me. He actually reminds me of you sometimes,” Geralt admits with a nonchalant shrug when Jaskier swivels his head to look at him in surprise. “He likes reading. He also likes poetry and music, but he can’t carry a tune. Eskel is also quiet and soft-spoken. He’s calm and polite, especially when it comes to dealing with humans.”

Jaskier smiles softly at the fond expression on Geralt’s face as he talks about his brother. He already knows that Geralt has a close, familial relationship with the other Wolf Witchers, but it’s still amazing to listen to him talk about them.

Ever since Geralt invited him to winter with him earlier this year, Jaskier can’t help but hang on to every information Geralt shares with him. Stories about growing up with his brothers; the fights they had, the pranks they pulled on each other, and long nights spent drinking around the fire sharing new battle scars they acquired on The Path.

“He also loves this goat he named Li’l Bleater. Lambert and I keep calling him a ‘horny fucker’, and we have a bet going on for when he’ll snap.”

Despite the cold, Jaskier’s laugh is loud and unrestrained at the shit-eating grin on Geralt’s face.

~

“Without Vesemir, there would be no Kaer Morhen,” Geralt discloses a day later. “He hasn’t left the keep in, hmm, a decade or so now.”

“So he’s just up there all alone?” Jaskier stumbles over his words, aghast. He wraps his cloak tighter around his frame. “And he, what? Just waits for you to come home for the winter?”

Geralt hums. “He does repairs for the keep, too. Clears out any monsters lurking nearby so it doesn’t become an infestation.”

Jaskier peers closer at Geralt, and he blinks when he perceives the peculiar expression on his face.

“You look up to him,” Jaskier says with a smile.

Geralt shrugs, but Jaskier can detect the hint of embarrassment in those golden eyes. He doesn’t push forward, happy and contented enough to learn more about the important people in his darling witcher’s long life.

“I’m sure he’s proud of his pups,” Jaskier adds softly. Geralt grunts, so he presses his shoulder against the witcher’s, both to comfort the other man and to huddle closer for warmth. Jaskier angles his head to press a dry kiss on Geralt’s cheek, meeting his lover’s surprised stare with an adoring smile. “I know I am.”

~

Despite the thick fur-lined coat he’s wearing as well as the two blankets Geralt threw over him, Jaskier is still shivering as they continue to trudge through the Witcher’s Trail, the uneven path Geralt casually informs him is also called the “The Killer”.

Who the actual fuck named these roads, anyway?

When they make camp that night, Jaskier is despondent that they can’t do more than kiss. It’s starting to snow, and the frigid wind doesn’t help matters. It’s only thanks to Geralt’s body heat that Jaskier is able to endure the cold. A part of him hates that Geralt is doing everything; from building the fire to cooking them dinner, and now to keeping Jaskier warm.

“G-gonna make it up to you,” Jaskier stammers, his voice muffled from where it’s buried in Geralt’s neck. “S-sorry can’t help… much.”

Geralt hums and then presses a tender kiss on Jaskier’s temple.

“It’s fine,” he replies. Jaskier knows it is, that Geralt doesn’t mind in the least bit, but he’s gotten used to also looking after Geralt that Jaskier hates feeling this useless. “We’re almost at the keep, likely a day and a half away.”

“O-okay,” Jaskier mumbles. He burrows further in Geralt’s heat, and he’s unable to fight off a smile when he feels those arms tighten around him. “I-I’m going to spoil you _rotten_ , witcher. Mark my words.”

“Alright.”

Geralt chuckles under his breath, and Jaskier succumbs to sleep after that.

~

When they pass through the drawbridge and walk through the open gate of the keep, Jaskier notices two things:

The first is that he easily spots three towering figures standing in front of the entrance to the crumbling keep. So that means that they’re the last to arrive, which isn’t really surprising given the fact that they took their time.

The second thing that Jaskier notices is that these witchers, with the obvious exemption of Vesemir, live up to their moniker. Upon sighting them, the two younger-looking witchers don’t hesitate to run towards them at full speed, faces alight with glee and mischief. Jaskier staggers back in shock, but before he can turn to Geralt to ask what the fuck is going on, his darling witcher leaves his side to sprint towards his brothers.

Jaskier stands beside Roach, mouth agape in shock at the incredibly rare display of three fully-grown men meeting in the middle with a resounding thump. Scarred, brawny arms wrap around each other in what can be described as a group hug. It lasts for about half a minute before Jaskier notices the shortest of the trio — _Lambert_ , his mind supplies when he notes the short-cropped black hair and long, thin scar over his eye — hook a leg around Geralt’s calf to tip the silver-haired witcher over. With a surprised grunt, Geralt crashes to the ground, but not before grabbing his brothers with him with an annoyed huff.

“Lambert, you prick,” Geralt growls as he playfully elbows Lambert in the face.

“We’ve been here for almost a week,” Lambert drawls as he shoves Geralt’s arm out of the way in an attempt to grab his head into a headlock. “Old age getting to you, eh?”

“Fuck off!”  
“Oi, Lambert, your nasty boot’s on my prick!” Eskel grumbles in complaint.

“Well don’t get hard on me, your horny fucker,” Lambert shoots back with a sneer.

“You two are crushing my ribs,” Geralt complains next, but it falls on deaf ears.

Jaskier muffles his laughter when Lambert sticks out his tongue at the other witcher. Jaskier thinks he looks frighteningly similar to Geralt, except for the hair and the scars that take over half of his face. Still, it doesn’t take away the fact that he’s very handsome.

To Jaskier’s shock, he sees Eskel affectionately rub his face against Geralt’s armour-clad chest while one hand shoots to slap Lambert’s roguish face out of the way.

His shock quickly melts into amusement and wonder as Jaskier gawks at the wolf pile happening in front of his eyes. He sees movement from the corner of his eye, and Jaskier looks up to see Vesemir ambling towards them. Jaskier lets a grin form on his face when he sees the exasperated expression on the old witcher’s face.

“You must be Jaskier,” Vesemir addresses Jaskier with a nod in greeting. “Geralt’s bard.”

Jaskier puts on his best, and most sincere, smile before he bows elegantly in front of the old witcher.

“The one and only,” Jaskier replies once he straightens his posture. He tilts his head, his smile small but just as heartfelt now. “And you are Master Vesemir. Geralt’s told me so much about you and his brothers.”

“Oh?” Vesemir arches a brow at him before casting a quick glance at his three pups still in the midst of a wolf pile. “Has he now?”

Jaskier smothers his laughter when he glimpses Geralt sneaking an arm around Lambert’s neck before the youngest witcher yelps when the former manages to get him into a headlock.

“Mhm yes,” Jaskier nods when he focuses his attention back to Vesemir. Then he adds, curiosity in his tone, “Are they always like this when they reunite?”

Vesemir snorts inelegantly but doesn’t give an immediate response. Jaskier blinks when he discerns the man’s stern features soften when his eyes land on Geralt and his brothers, Eskel aiding Geralt by holding down Lambert’s thrashing legs.

“The Path is harsh and unforgiving for people of our kind,” Vesemir answers eventually, his candid words belying the warmth in his tone. When Jaskier turns to meet his gaze, there’s something like understanding that passes between them. “These crumbling walls have seen enough horror and bloodshed. So if they want to act like children for a while, then I let them be. Beyond everything, we are all that’s left of Kaer Morhen.”

~

“How exhausted are you?” Geralt asks him later that night.

Jaskier rubs his belly, full from the venison and roasted vegetables Vesemir cooked for dinner. It was so delicious, the meat tender and seasoned generously with spices, that Jaskier went for seconds. And then thirds.

“Not that much,” he answers after a moment. “Why?”

Jaskier’s interest piques when Geralt gives him a suggestive grin.

“We can bathe at the hot spring before you… make it up to me.”

A shiver of excitement runs down his spine, his cock twitching in his breeches as arousal starts to simmer low in his gut. Jaskier looks at his gorgeous witcher from underneath his lashes.

“Let me just grab the soap and oils,” he says, smirking when Geralt growls low in his throat. “Then you can lead the way, darling.”

~

When Geralt takes him to the keep’s hot spring, Jaskier delivers on his promise and spoils his witcher. He uses honey and oat soap to scrub away the grime and dirt from their travels, then spends a long time massaging the tension from Geralt’s broad shoulders. After that, Jaskier washes the long, silver locks with oil, massaging the scalp and carefully untangling the knots.

Finally clean, Jaskier spurs Geralt until the witcher is on his back on the edge of the pool, knees bent and spread wide for the bard to feast on. Jaskier then spends at least half an hour opening Geralt with his fingers and mouth, the witcher’s shameless moans and breathy gasps echoing in the large space.

He makes love to Geralt there, his thrusts long and deep. His darling witcher’s gruff voice repeatedly groans out Jaskier’s name like a god, and it’s the most beautiful sound Jaskier has ever heard.

After that night, the hot spring officially become Jaskier’s favourite place in the keep.

~

Actually, the hot spring is Jaskier’s second favourite place in the keep. The first is Geralt’s bedroom. Specifically, his large bed.

The first time they make love in the spacious bed is the morning after.

Jaskier remembers waking up at the crack of dawn, uncertain as to what woke him up. The fire at the hearth is burning low, arms automatically tightening around Geralt’s torso when he turns to look at the man he is spooning. Jaskier hooks his chin over his shoulder, and he feels his chest expand upon seeing the peaceful expression on the man’s face.

He decides then and there to give his witcher the best wake-up call; Geralt’s startled yelp when he stirs awake to find his cock deep in Jaskier’s throat has the witcher coming in no time.

Hole still loose from the night before, it only takes a few minutes to prep him before Jaskier is pushing Geralt’s sturdy legs apart. He grasps the back of Geralt’s knees until they’re touching his chest. Jaskier takes his time entering him, obsessed with the view of seeing his blunt cockhead pushing past the tight ring of muscle. He slides all the way home, takes one deep breath, and then sets a fast and rough pace.

Geralt’s hands find purchase on the headboard as he grunts and moans, and demands Jaskier to fuck him harder, rougher.

The long-suffering look on Vesemir’s face and the scandalised expressions on Eskel and Lambert’s faces when they enter the dining hall that morning was, frankly, utterly hilarious.

~

“Sing us a song, bard!” Lambert cajoles one night, bellies full and hearts light with laughter and good company.

He and Geralt have only been in Kaer Morhen for a week but Jaskier already considers this place his home. His fears are unfounded as he finds himself easing into their routine and dynamic seamlessly.

“Oh, yes! Perhaps some of your earlier songs?”

Eskel perks up and he looks hopefully at Jaskier, who’s comfortably nestled on Geralt’s lap, one arm slung over his witcher’s neck, ring-laden fingers absentmindedly caressing the small hairs on Geralt’s nape. He feels Geralt’s chest rumble with pleasure as he nuzzles Jaskier’s temple with a soft purr.

“Not that coin toss song,” Lambert grouses before he drains his mug.

“I agree,” Vesemir nods at Jaskier.

“How about _Seven Winters_?”

“Fuck that. Sing _Fishmonger’s Daughter_!”

“I asked first, you pillock.”

“No, _I_ asked first, you horny fucker!”

“What is it with you and Geralt calling me that?!”

“Are they always like this?” Jaskier whispers in Geralt’s ear as they watch Lambert and Eskel drunkenly argue in front of them.

Geralt hums, and Jaskier can feel his chest rumble with unrestrained laughter.

“Unfortunately,” Geralt says, but there’s a smirk on his face.

When he meets his stare, Jaskier’s heart stutters in his chest when he sees the soft, warm expression on Geralt’s face. The lines that usually make his features look harsher in the light of day is now smooth, making him look decades younger. Jaskier also notes the lack of tension around his eyes and shoulders, the difference of Geralt on The Path versus Geralt in Kaer Morhen a startling contrast.

Jaskier loves what he sees, and he’s momentarily overcome with deep affection and gratitude for this incredibly kind and selfless man that Jaskier can’t help but pepper soft kisses from his forehead, nose, cheek, and lips.

“It’s good to be home, huh?”

Geralt lets out a pleased hum, golden eyes hungrily tracking Jaskier’s lips before glancing up to pin him with an adoring look.

“Good to be home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Toss a comment or a kudo to your writer, oh reader a-plenty!
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](https://jaskierstark.tumblr.com) if you wanna say hi. 👋


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